


Love Theme

by EarlyMorningIllusion



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlyMorningIllusion/pseuds/EarlyMorningIllusion
Summary: Alternate world where Axl is the guitarist and Slash is the frontman. Also did a bit of a personality swap for the two of them.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Slash | Saul Hudson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Love Theme

He's a monster on the mic. 

He grips it in his ring-encrusted fist, leather bands and silver bangles slipping from his wrist and down his forearm as he wrenches the mic stand closer, and his voice is a musical growl. It soars, low and breathy and pained, bluesy like the forties and whimsical like the sixties and electric like the eighties. He tosses his head back when he finishes a note and the cloud of black hair swings away from his face for a moment, and I see parted lips, eyes closed, those beautifully dark brows furrowed just a little. His chest heaves, glistening, as he catches his breath, and then he turns to me. 

I shiver, my fingers tightening around the fretboard of my guitar. Izzy glances over and grins. I bend my head forward and hope he can't see my blush, concentrating on getting my solo just right, hoping that Slash likes it enough to dance over and lean into me. 

He doesn't, but it’s OK. It's enough to see him flutter his eyelids shut and arch back, swaying, bobbing, one hand coming up and floating gently in the air as if composing along with the music. It's enough to see that my playing does that to him. 

I finish the solo and take a second to wipe my face with my arm. My bandana had long ago fallen off, and I remember kicking it offstage earlier in a fit of adrenaline-driven euphoria as I'd finished the last few notes of Jungle, pointing my guitar forward like a weapon of war. My hair falls into my face now, and I let it, feeling wet wisps of my fringe sticking to my flushed skin. Slash had grinned at me when he saw the new haircut, ruffling his fingers through the freshly blow-dried strands. 

"Bangs," he'd said, that lackadaisical California drawl skimming over my ears like a summer breeze, fingers gently tugging and exploring. His head had cocked to one side, thoughtful, and the grin became a beam. "Suits you." 

He approaches me now, walking backwards and pulling the mic stand with him. Slinging one arm around my bare shoulders, he pulls me close. I feel his hair first, soft and coarse at the same time, and then his head, warm and solid against mine. I inhale. Sweetness swirls around my nostrils, a mixture of beer and sweat and something distinctly musky and primal. My mouth waters, and I almost choke on my saliva when his lips brush my ear. 

"What song next?" he breathes. The words beat wet air into my eardrums. It tickles, but I don't move my head to itch it - I don't want to pull away from him. 

"Up to you," I say. He frowns at me and moves his head closer, so his ear hovers near my chin. I lean forward. 

"I don't mind," I say a little louder. He pulls back and raises an eyebrow, then a slow, devilish smirk starts to creep across his face. I feel his arm sliding from around my shoulder and it’s all I can do to not lean into him, trying to maintain that physical contact for just a few seconds longer. Both his hands now grip the mic, and he stares at me with that smirk. 

My breath is caught somewhere between my chest and throat. 

And then those shiny brown eyes tear away from me and focus back on the crowd. I exhale. 

“Axl’s gonna play us something special tonight,” he says softly, his voice gentle and not scratchy in the slightest. The words echo around the arena, and the crowd shrieks. I feel their attention shifting to me, expectant and excited, a little nonplussed to have the frontman offer the spotlight to his guitarist but rolling with it just the same. I try to hide behind my hair, fiddling nervously with my guitar. 

“Slash…” 

He loves doing this. Loves putting others on the spot, seeing if they can keep up with him. It's a personality test of sorts, I suppose, although I think the other part of it is that he just loves fucking with people. I don't waste time wondering if I should be annoyed - I can't, because he's already backed away from the mic and is sitting cross-legged next to my amp, chin tilted up and staring at me. Waiting. 

Fuck. 

I turn away and walk across the stage, fiddling out a few meaningless twangs as I try to stall for time. By the drum kit, Steven is watching me, wide-eyed, and I throw him a helpless look to which he responds with an encouraging smile. Exhaling, I tilt my head back, feeling my hair brush against my spine. 

I play the first few notes in that exact position, head thrown back and eyes closed. I pause, and adjust the strings a little, tightening here, loosening there. Satisfied, I play them again, this time continuing the melody a little longer, finding the next few notes with ease as I play the piece back in my head, remembering it from the movie. The crowd starts to cheer, recognising the music, and from the corner of my eye I see Izzy rolling his eyes. It makes me smile, and play on with gusto. 

The notes flow easily, even though I've only practiced them a few times. It's a strange song, soaring with yearning and nostalgia and melancholy, but edged with an ominous hint of something ancient and dangerous. It stirs something in me, that melody, and I find my throat is aching. 

The guys have recognised it by now, and have chimed in - Steven with a slow, heavy drumbeat, Duff with his subtle bassline, Izzy with his growling rhythm guitar. Slash recognises it, too - I can tell by the way he's smiling at me. 

It's the song from the Godfather movie. The Love Theme, it's called. 

I meet Slash's eyes as I start to go a little rogue with an improvised solo, a wild, desperate little thing as Izzy maintains the main tune. Slash stares back at me, and then he gets up and comes closer. 

The chords streaming from my fingers are particularly soulful as he winds his arms around my waist and buries his face in my hair. I lean into him as much as I can without disrupting the angle of my arm against the guitar. His skin is slick with sweat, and so is mine, and maybe it's gross that my shoulder feels stuck to his side and his arm feels glued to my back, but I don't mind. It's exciting, like there's something wild and electric and animal binding us together. 

My eyes are closed, and I can feel the wind machines gently blowing my hair back from my face. I end the solo, and Izzy and Duff and Steven play their instruments more gently as the song draws to a slow, tender conclusion. My fingers pluck out the final note, and I feel everyone in the arena emit a single simultaneous, slightly shaky sigh. That's a good metaphor for the last notes of this piece, I think. The musical equivalent of a deep, deep sigh, the kind of sigh that starts low in the core of your being and pushes out all the heavy and sad things when you let it go. 

I think we all felt a little lighter, then. I really do. 

Slash pulls away a little, turning his head to face mine. His eyes are strange, now; faraway and dreamy, but bright. We're both breathing heavily, the gentle hum of the crowd cushioning our eardrums and the wind machine starting to coax goosebumps from our skin. He looks at me. I see something fierce and blazing in that look, and it's all at once thrilling and comforting and a little terrifying and for a moment, I can't breathe. 

I don't want to breathe, not ever again. 

I want to be suspended in time, with the last notes of the Love Theme echoing in my ears, and the guitar strings still vibrating against my palm and Slash's silky breath against my cheeks.


End file.
